Authors: Madeline Evering
Knowing how hard the crew had worked this
day, Catherine made certain she was ready well in time for the evening meal.
While the crew spent their time on deck washing off the soot from the guns and
donning fresh clothes, Catherine also prepared for the night’s festivities. In
expectation of the evening’s gathering, Catherine searched her trunk for a
favorite gown for dancing: a muslin gown of purest white, patterned softly with
embroidered flowers. The neck and empire waist were trimmed in silk, with ties at
the waist falling in long graceful ribbons behind her back. Catherine carefully
plaited her hair, capturing its silky weight into an elegant twist at the base
of her neck, securing the whole with tortoiseshell combs. As she looked in the
mirror, Catherine noted her high color from spending almost the entire day in
full sun. Her checks were an even deeper shade than usual, highlighting the
angular planes of her face and making her blue eyes gleam brighter. Catherine
chastised herself for not carrying her parasol on deck earlier, and then gave a
quick laugh of mirth at the thought. The idea of sitting on deck beneath a silk
parasol while the smoke and noise of the guns curled up around her was
ludicrous, and more than a little amusing to Catherine’s mind.
The smile was still playing about her
lips as Catherine was summoned to the door by the customary knock of Tom
Foster. She opened the door wide, her lovely face wreathed in smiles, to greet her
young escort. To her surprise, Catherine found a very anxious Tom at her
threshold.
“Miss Gibson,” Tom said quickly, “The
captain sends his apologies but there is to be no supper or festivities this
evening. A French ship has been spotted to the west and we are to give chase.”
Catherine listened with growing alarm: “But what can a French ship be doing
here? We are very close to Jamaica now, to be sure?” Tom nodded his head in
agreement; “You’re right, miss. There is no reason for a corvette to be in these
waters. We will give chase to determine what they are up to. The captain wanted
you to know so you would not be waiting on us as we will be at stations.” The
unmistakable pride in his voice as he spoke these words gave Catherine pause.
She knew Tom was already used to such events in his life at sea but she worried
for him just the same. “I think I shall join you on deck first, Tom to see the
spectacle for myself.” The boy reddened at her words. “That is the other part
of my message, Miss Gibson. Captain says you are not to come above deck until
the situation is resolved. He wants you to remain below, in the orlop, if you
please. It’s not a fit space for a lady but Captain Knight says it’s better fit
for a lady than the main deck during a battle.” Catherine could not help but
bristle at this reported speech. She did not pretend to be a brave soldier of
any sort, but she refused to be summarily dismissed like a child. Tom saw the
hint of anger in her face and tried to make amends. “Please, miss! It should not
be for very long. The surgeon will be there for you to talk to… and I’ll come
fetch you as soon as the worst is over.” Catherine did not wish to create
problems for Tom but there was no way she would miss this opportunity. Before
Tom could protest further, Catherine was through the cabin door and heading for
the quarter deck, a nervous Foster trailing in her wake.
The sight as she reached the main
deck filled Catherine with awe; she could not help but feel an undeniable
thrill at her first view of an enemy ship. Britain and France had long been at war and the news of naval battles filled the papers – and the everyday talk
– of every city and town in England. Like her countrymen, Catherine was well
versed in the heroic actions of England’s navy and to be here, ringside at such
an event seemed like something out of a dream. The French vessel was much
closer than Catherine imagined it would be. From her vantage point she could clearly
see details of the vessel; the cannons run out the gun ports, the men aloft in
the rigging, and the tri-color flag snapping in the wind as the French sought
to escape the English ship’s determined pursuit. The flurry of motion on the
French ship was matched on the decks of
HMS Triton
. Like the French
vessel it pursued, the English ship was busily preparing for engagement with
the enemy. Catherine saw the hands arrayed in an almost exact replica of the
morning’s exercises: many were aloft in the sheets working furiously to move
the
Triton
at even greater speed while others hauled ropes to the
shouted commands of their lieutenants. In formation further up the deck was the
ship’s company of marines, arms at the ready. At stations the length of the
deck, cannons were made ready by the gun crews. And orchestrating all from his
position on the quarter deck was Captain Knight; issuing commands rapid-fire to
his men, seeking every advantage, driving the
Triton
to greater gains on
the enemy ship.
Gripping scenes played out everywhere
before her but Catherine found her gaze drawn time and again by the awesome spectacle
of Captain Knight. He stood towering on the deck in his immaculate uniform, determination
and authority flowing from him like a living thing. He seemed to anticipate
every move of the French and used that understanding to guide his own men,
ensuring their rapid gain on the enemy. No small detail escaped his constant
calculations so it should not have surprised Catherine when his all-seeing gaze
found her in his survey of the ship. A dark flush came into Captain Knight’s
face at the sight of her on deck and his look of composed concentration was
quickly replaced with anger. Catherine knew her mistake and stood fearful at
her discovery. Without moving from his spot, the captain barked at young Tom:
“Foster! Get that woman below decks immediately!” Then Captain Knight turned
sharply away, not waiting to see if his order would be carried out. Catherine
felt a burning shame in her cheeks at being so brutally dismissed – but she
knew better than to disobey Knight’s order a second time. With all the good
grace she could muster, Catherine accepted her chastisement and left
immediately for the orlop.
The lowest level of the ship was one
Catherine had, understandably, not encountered during their voyage. This
remote, dark space beneath the waterline was reserved principally for storage
and for living space for some members of the crew, such as the ship’s surgeon,
Dr. Lyons. Catherine knew Dr. Lyons from the captain’s dinners but their
greeting on this occasion was very different. When Catherine entered the orlop and
spotted Lyons she moved immediately to where he stood in the cockpit. Busily
arranging instruments on a long table, the doctor looked up in astonishment at
her approach; “Miss Gibson? Whatever are you doing here? This is no fit place
for a woman!” he said with passion. “It seems, Dr. Lyons,” Catherine replied dryly
“that there is no fit place on the entire ship for me at this moment. I was
told by Captain Knight that I must remain here until all is well.” The good man
shook his head in disdain: “The orlop may be a safer place away from the guns
of the other decks, but the business here will be just as gruesome.” Dr. Lyons
looked to where his instruments lay ready on a side table and Catherine’s gaze
followed his with curiosity. Her eyes widened in shocked surprise at the
apparatus before her: in addition to the usual medical paraphernalia, an
assortment of knives, saws and other glittering dangers winked evilly in the
cabin’s lamplight. Catherine saw in an instant that the doctor’s work on such an
occasion was very different from that normally performed in the sick berth on
the upper gun deck; this was a place where men’s lives might be saved only by
the gravest measures.
Dr. Lyons watched as she tried to hide
her horrified reaction. “I think it would be best, Miss Gibson, should any men
be brought below that you retire to my cabin. You will be quite secure there, I
assure you” the doctor said reassuringly. Catherine nodded absently at his
words, still trying to come to terms with the gravity of what she saw before
her. She stepped away from the table and clasped her hands together to still
their nervous motion. Dr. Lyons gave her arm a quick squeeze and stepped into
his cabin, returning moments later with two glasses filled with amber liquid.
“Here,” Lyons said kindly, “I think we both might need a bit of fortification
this evening.” Catherine accepted the glass with gratitude and took a small
sip. The brandy burned a trail of liquid fire down her throat and into her
stomach. She choked a little at its strength but soon felt the benefit of its
warming sensation spread throughout her body. She took a second small sip before
passing her glass back to the kindly doctor. “There,” said Lyons, “Now all we
must do is wait.”
Their wait was not to be long, for within
moments Catherine and the doctor felt a sharp report accompanied by the deafening
roar of the canons as they gave bear on the French target. As the shudder
passed through the ship, the doctor laid a friendly hand on Catherine’s arm,
steadying her. “It’s begun” he said simply and Catherine nodded quietly in
understanding. “Do such battles last long, Dr. Lyons?” Catherine asked, anxious
for reassurance. The doctor folded his arms across his chest; “They can, miss.
But Captain Knight is as careful a commander as I have ever served under. He
knows the enemy well and fights with caution and judgment. The
Triton
will
be victorious, I am certain.” “And yet, Doctor, such preparations…..” Catherine
said haltingly, her gaze sweeping over the medical implements. “I am afraid
victory, as well as defeat, comes at a cost, Miss Gibson” the doctor replied
gravely.
The battle raged above them for
several long minutes, before there was a pause. Catherine looked at the doctor
in anxious expectation: “Do you think it is over, sir?” The doctor shook his
head; “No, I believe from the motion of the ship we are simply turning. The
captain will be preparing to stay their progress I expect.” No sooner had he
spoke then the ship indeed made a sharp turn, followed by a blast of gunfire
from the cannons once again. In this same moment, two of the hands appeared at
the base of the orlop stairs, one supporting the other as he attempted to walk.
The doctor quickly came to attention and assisted in getting the man onto the surgical
table. Catherine looked on in fear as she saw the state of the man’s leg: a
huge gaping wound slashed the length of his calf. Catherine blanched a moment
and felt ill, but then she saw the look of pain on the man’s face. She steeled
her nerves and did her best to be strong for his sake. “What do you think,
doctor?” said the second hand, inquiring for his friend. “It is serious to be
sure,” replied the doctor as he examined the wound, “but it can be mended. We
must clean the wound so I may see to do my stitching.” As he turned to gather
his materials Dr. Lyons caught sight of Catherine; “Miss Gibson, I apologize I
had forgotten you! Please, repair to my quarters at once. We will do quite well
here” he said with sincerity. Catherine looked from the doctor to the patient
once more and saw in the man’s face the worry and concern he tried hard to
conceal. “No,” Catherine said in reply to the doctor’s request; “I think I had
better help you here, doctor. The wound is not so very severe and I might be of
some assistance to you.” She finished her brave speech somewhat breathless,
hoping that her words gave courage to the injured man – as well as giving her
some much needed confidence. Dr. Lyons saw the kind intent behind Catherine’s
words and the fierce spark of will in her eyes. There was no time to argue with
or caution her further – he accepted Catherine’s offer and began his difficult
work with his new assistant.
Catherine surprised the doctor with
her firm resolve but she also surprised herself. Though she was no shrinking
violet, the sights that came before her that day were beyond any she had ever
imagined. Several men had injured limbs; another had powder burns on his face
and hands; and one brave man did not survive the blast of gunfire that came
from the enemy ship. The viciousness of the injuries spoke of the high price to
be paid in England’s war against Napoleon. The ship’s company was lucky; the
doctor – like the rest of Captain Knight’s crew – had been carefully chosen and
was well equipped to perform his duties. He was an intelligent man and gave
every patient his utmost attention, all while the ship reeled and rocked from
the blasting of the cannons and the maneuvers against the French. The doctor considered
himself lucky as well, thanks to his unusual assistant. Though he made no
remark to her, Dr. Lyons was astonished at the way Catherine came to his aid.
No young lady of society could be prepared for the sights of a battlefield
surgery but Catherine remained steadfast and firm throughout the ordeal,
assisting capably with whatever tasks the doctor assigned. Dr. Lyons looked at
her as she held a patient’s hand, encouraging him with kind words: she was a
most beautiful creature to be sure but it was her generous spirit that marked
her as something special.
Absorbed in their tasks, it was a
patient who finally marked that the gunfire had come to an end. Catherine
lifted her head for the first time in many long minutes and listened to the
quiet in suspense. “What does it mean, Doctor?” she asked cautiously. At the
same instant, a huge cheer could be heard from the decks above. Doctor Lyons
gave her a quick smile and returned to his task; “I believe, Miss Gibson, it
means the
HMS Triton
is victorious.” Catherine felt a small smile creep
into her face at his words. She was weary to the bone with the work and the
worry of the past hours but a small spark of strength returned to her at this
welcome news. They continued on quietly with their tasks, Catherine a great
deal more at ease as she knew there would be no further casualties to come
before her.